


In the Bleak Midwinter

by wrote_and_writ



Series: Give Me Liberty to Love You [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4894519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrote_and_writ/pseuds/wrote_and_writ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras are about to celebrate their first Christmas together. Enjolras wants to get something special for R, but he is at a loss. Eponine takes him to a Christmas market, and he finds just the thing.</p><p>For the Favorite</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Bleak Midwinter

"Do you want to know what he's getting you?"  


Enjolras looked away from the shop window to glare at Eponine. "No," he said tersely. He stuck his hands down deep into his pockets, gripping the handfuls of cash he'd stuffed into his jeans, wadding the money in his fists as if they would impart inspiration.  


He must have had an odd look on his face, because Eponine touched his arm gently.  


"It's just Grantaire," she said. "He'll love whatever you do because he loves you."  


"People always say that, but it never works out that way. There's always a look on their face when they unwrap the misshapen, handmade monstrosity their partner gave them, or the book of coupons for free kisses."  


"Oh god," Eponine groaned. She slipped her arm around Enjolras's waist and steered him away from the art supply store they'd been haunting for the last hour. "Cosette got to you, didn't she? Made you watch some god-awful romantic comedy. I bet it had Anne Hathaway in it, didn't it?"  


"What does Shakespeare have to do with anything?" Enjolras said distractedly. He caught sight of a bespoke tobbaconists down a side street.  


Eponine rolled her eyes, not that Enjolras noticed, and squeezed him closer.  


"Look, why don't we go down to the Christmas market? There's bound to be some good things there, and I want to pick up a few things myself."  


"The market? It'll be teeming with suburbanites, slumming it in the city, safe in the fog of their eggnog lattes and cranberry scones."  


"Ooh, scones sound amazing. My treat." Eponine shouldered Enjolras to the side, steering them to the Christmas market that filled the town square every Saturday. She bought him a scone, and he consented to a cup of bitter espresso, and they circled the market arm in arm for the better part of an hour.  


The coffee and company warmed Enjolras a little, but the clouds moved in and the sky threatened snow. The city turned bleak and gray, and Enjolras despaired of finding anything suitable for Grantaire when he brushed against a rack of scarves and hats as he dodged a woman with a double wide stroller and a beagle in tow.  


Eponine cursed the woman as she became separated from Enjolras by the crowds returning to their SUVs. She called for Enjolras, but he was stroking a forest green scarf with a reverence usually reserved for the sloping curve of Grantaire's waist.  


"Can I help you?" A plump, bespectacled young woman with short, dark hair grinned up at him from a chair inside the booth. She had a skein of the same green yarn in her lap, and her fingers never lost their rhythm as they added a round to a hat.  


"I'm looking for something for my boyfriend," he said, still touching the scarf. "For Christmas. Our first Christmas."  


"Well that cashmere is a lovely thing indeed." She set her work aside and stood, fussing with a stack of knitwear. "Will he wear it, though? Some men don't take to scarves."  


"I'm not sure," Enjolras admitted.  


"What does your boy do?"  


"He's a painter." Enjolras looked at the women. She wasn't much older than he was.  


"Well now, does he spend much time outdoors?" She lifted a pair of mittens from the pile. "I've a friend who's a photographer, and she swears by these." She held out the mittens for Enjolras to inspect.  


They were also a deep green, still soft, though nothing like the cashmere. Each mitten had a flap that folded back and secured to the wrist with a button.  


"These give some freedom and flexibility. And they're superwash wool, which means if he gets them a bit dirty, they can be washed. Hand washed, mind, but they're a bit more durable than the cashmere if he's out and about all the time."  


Enjolras held onto the scarf still. He wanted to strip down and wrap himself in the thing, but he held himself in check.  


"His hands are always cold," Enjolras admitted. But the scarf.  


The young woman smiled. "I'll tell you what. As it's Christmas and it's your first together, I'll make you a deal. Scarf and mittens for fifty."  


Enjolras's fingers twitched involuntarily. He hadn't even considered the price. The scarf alone was seventy five. He held it up and examined it. He knew nothing about knitting, but even he could see the simple pattern was fine work.  


"I couldn't give you so little," he said, putting the scarf aside. "I'll take the mittens, though."  


The woman shook a small paper bag open and tucked the mittens and scarf inside. "Forty, then, and my final offer. I won't let love grow cold."  


Enjolras took his money from his pocket and peeled four twenties from the stack. "Nor will I let you go cold," he replied as he took the bag from her.  


The woman reached over and squeezed his arm. "Alright then. I hope you and your lad have a very merry Christmas indeed."  


"And you," Enjolras replied, tucking the bag inside his jacket. He gave the woman a smile as Eponine found him, breathless and bright eyed from fighting the crowd, sputtering angry curses under her breath. Enjolras gave the woman at the booth one last smile and steered Eponine away from the market, back to the cafe, their friends, and a little something to drive back the chill.  



End file.
